Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Catbox
by formerly just a watcher
Summary: Harry Potter wasn't expecting much that day. But it was a day that he wouldn't forget. The Golden Witch would never let him. How will learning this powerful and mysterious magic affect the Wizarding World? More importantly, how will it affect Ange?
1. Prologue: A not so ordinary day

**Disclaimer: I do not own the **_**Harry Potter **_**franchise, nor do I own **_**Umineko no naku koro ni**_** or anything else in the **_**When They Cry **_**series. They are the property of J.K. Rowling and Ryukishi07, respectively.**

_Number 4 Privet Drive, in the Middle of October, 1986_

The day started off relatively normally, or rather, what passed for a given value of the term, "normally," in the life of a then-6-year-old Harry Potter. He was given a rude, albeit not unexpected, awakening from his Uncle Vernon, who ordered him to make brunch for the entire Dursley family, with just a little bit for himself. His spoiled cousin Dudley pestered him to make even _more_ bacon than he usually made, leaving less for himself. Afterwards, his Aunt Petunia ordered him to clean all their dishes too. Vernon was urging him to return to his cupboard as soon as he could - he mentioned something about one of his important superiors at work coming to visit, but Harry never paid much attention to why he'd have to stay inside the cupboard that barely sufficed as his room, instead being secretly thankful at having a slight reprieve from Vernon and Petunia's chores as well as Dudley and his friends' bullying. All in all, an ordinary day for Harry Potter. As Harry worked on the dishes, scrubbing the stains out of a particularly expensive, albeit tasteless-looking, plate of fine china, he and the rest of the family heard a faint knock on the door. "I hope that's the postman; it doesn't usually take this long for the news to arrive," Vernon thought aloud as he walked over to the door. While no one was at the door, Vernon's musings proved correct as he looked down at the doorstep and found the latest copy of the Daily Mail.

Paying little to no mind, Harry continued to wipe the plate clean as Vernon rolled open the paper. It took approximately three seconds for Vernon's mind to process the cover story. "They wasted _hours_ of my time for this sensationalist _trash_!," Vernon yelled to no one in particular, before angrily slamming his hands, as well as the newspaper, on the table. This sudden display of anger startled Harry, who dropped the china plate. It began to fall to the ground slowly but surely. It was as if Harry could see the plate falling in slow motion, looking on in horror as the plate touched the ground; the gaudy decorations lining the edge were the first victims, developing huge cracks before breaking off into large pieces. The sound of the plate shattering alerted the rest of the Dursley household to Harry's folly; he himself felt like a deer caught in the headlights. Vernon turned to Harry, looking even _more_ irate than usual. Harry gulped audibly as his ire was turned towards him; Harry almost swore that the Dursley patriarch's face had turned into a shade of purple akin to that of a slightly unripe plum. "_WHAT_ do you think you're doing, boy? We expect you to _clean_ our dishes, not to throw them on the ground like a monkey! Do you know how much that china plate _cost_? It was worth more than _you_!," Vernon roared to his frightened nephew, who by now had fallen on his backside just next to the broken plate. Vernon, getting out of his seat, took off his belt, moving to whip the poor boy into blissful unconsciousness. Instinctively, Harry grabbed the nearest item he could find on the ground to defend himself. After holding it out in front of his face, he realized something…wasn't right. _Didn't this get broken?_, Harry thought to himself, still keeping the plate directly in front of him as a meager defense against the unreasonably angry man who seemed to hate his very _existence_.

Before he could whip the terrified 6-year-old into submission, Vernon also realized the same thing Harry did. Unfortunately, realizing that only made the man madder. Instead of whipping him as originally planned, Vernon wrested the repaired plate from Harry's shaking hands and put it in the sink, before dragging him to the cupboard, along with the newspaper from before, strangely enough. Harry, realizing something was very wrong with the situation, tried to force himself out of his uncle's grip, to no avail. He raised his free hand in a futile attempt to defend himself, as Vernon finally did as expected and started to whip the boy as hard as he could. His clothes, tattered hand-me-downs as they were, could not protect him from the onslaught of blows being rained down on his frail, slightly malnourished form. Bloody welts formed, especially among his left arm, which at least managed to protect his face from the worst of the inhumane punishment his supposed guardian was doling out. Each blow would be punctuated by an angry word or phrase:

"YOU! FREAKS! JUST! WON'T! LEAVE! US! ALONE! DON'T! LET! YOUR KIND! POLLUTE! MY! NEWSPAPER!" Harry's mind was just _begging_ for the punishment to end; his body itself was already driven to tears. As a final insult to his estranged nephew, the Dursley patriarch took the few bed sheets that Harry slept on in the cupboard, threw the newspaper near his head, and said, "Sleep on this instead, you freak of nature." Vernon closed the door to the cupboard. Harry, being in no condition to get up, turned his head in horror as he heard his uncle lock the door from the outside. Turning back, he attempted to sob as quietly as possible, so as not to attract further attention to himself. He eventually went to sleep in that horrific state, his body stained with blood and his face stained with trails of tears.

Harry woke up in the middle of the evening. His stomach grumbled fiercely, but it was to no avail; Harry's foster parents often saw fit to deprive him of meals for every perceived slight against them, and this day's punishment was no exception, even with the exceedingly cruel lashing he had taken. Feeling a spider crawling up his leg, Harry looked at it briefly, before swatting it away with his left hand, but did a double take when he realized something…was off. His left arm had taken the most damage out of his entire body; it should've been _covered_ in welts and gashes, and yet it wasn't even remotely red… Giving his body a closer inspection, he noticed that not even his _clothes_ had any blemishes beyond the normal wear and tear the young pariah had come to expect from Dudley's old clothing. He didn't even feel any lingering pain anymore. _Was that all just a nightmare…?_, Harry mused. He looked around for evidence of his theory. Instead he found evidence to the contrary, from his clock (It read 18:30), to his "bed" (None of the bedding or the blankets were there - Vernon still hadn't apparently seen fit to forgive him, even though he miraculously _hadn't_ broken that expensive plate after all), to his door (It was still locked), to even the newspaper which had _started_ the whole mess. "What's going on?," Harry whispered to himself, as he examined the newspaper, which had been hastily rolled back into its original position by Vernon and his unreasonable rage. Harry wondered why something like a simple newspaper article could provoke Vernon so easily, turning to the cover page. He blanched as he saw the title of the article:

"**Prominent Japanese Family Slaughtered; Could Witches Be Involved?"**

_?, Some time in 1998_

"…You're into fantasy novels, as well?," a curious voice asked a mysterious woman holding what appeared to be one of those aforementioned fantasy novels; her appearance, which was that of a moderately attractive woman who could not have been much older than 30, seemed to belie her true age. The voice belonged to one Ange Ushiromiya, the only member of her family left after the horrible massacre known worldwide as "The Witch's Legend Serial Murders Incident". Her pretty face and cute hair decorations were offset by the expression on her face, seemingly fixed in a permanent scowl, or maybe a piercing glance. "Why, _of course_, my cute little miko. To one who knows everything, everything is boring, so mystery _alone_ often cannot satiate my boredom. It takes so many different works and so many different genres written by the children of man, to satisfy my tastes for even a simple _year_!," the woman replied condescendingly. Even her speech patterns sounded old and archaic. Ange gazed sternly at the woman, but her calm smile never faltered for a second. The cat at her side gave Ange a look of boredom, imitating a yawn before she climbed the sofa across from the one Ange was sitting in, and curled up to sleep - or, perhaps, to feign sleep.

"Enough playing around with things that have nothing to do with my situation. When will you show me this "truth" you've found about my family? Quit playing around and give me a straight answer, Featherine." Ange folded her arms in a futile attempt to intimidate the now-identified Featherine Augustus Aurora, Witch of Theatergoing, an attempt which Featherine shrugged off as if it were a light breeze trying to knock down a mountain. "I already showed you the cover. Was that not enough?," She responded placidly. Ange gave the coldest glare she could muster in response. Featherine, being dissatisfied with this, let her calm smile fade away into something resembling a mild frown for the first time Ange could remember. "To be honest, "Dawn" is not quite finished, and I've come up with a mild case of writer's block. That's why I'm refreshing my mind with something new right now. Why don't you join me? It's become something _sensational_ in the West." Featherine, her small spiel finished, handed the strange book she was examining to Ange.

Ange herself, who had not seen the title, was intrigued by this creation. From what she saw of the cover, it seemed to be a children's book, but it _also_ seemed to have the weight and gravity of a small tome; she knew just by the feel of this novel, that it was big, big enough to potentially fill at least two average-length novels. The amount of words and pages gradually grew as Ange turned the book on its sides during her examination. She could feel it becoming slightly heavier by the second, though Ange could not determine the exact significance of a second in the immediate vicinity; In this witch's sphere of influence, a second could easily equate to a day, a week, a month, or even a millisecond, in the "real world". The most peculiar thing Ange noticed was easily the cover, which shifted its appearance several times in a particular pattern. The first cover she saw, which implied to her its nature as a children's novel, showed a young boy with a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead, riding a broom as if he was some kind of magician. After a few seconds, it changed to depict that same boy, but holding on to the tail of a brilliant crimson bird which oddly brought to mind Ange's beloved older brother Battler. Doing a double take at this, she kept a close eye on the front. It shifted to one last front cover, which initially seemed to be a rough outline of the boy on the back of a large bird-like creature, but was being slowly added to, much like the pages within. A few seconds later, the cycle appeared to begin anew, the only thing staying the same on the front being the title. She could not make out the exact title, but a large portion of it remained the same as the cover continually shifted, similar to how Featherine's forgeries always ended with the phrase "of the Golden Witch" : _Harry Potter and the…_

Ange was very curious of this shifting tome, though she would not care to admit it, especially when a new fragment of the twisted game her family had gotten itself wrapped up in was so close to her. "W-Why should I believe your explanation? If you really _have_ found the truth behind my family's murder, then why would you have writer's block? Isn't it just a simple matter of presenting what you know? For all _I_ know, you could just be stalling and wasting my time!" This was the most irate Featherine had seen Ange, at least in person. Featherine just smiled back and wagged her finger back at Ange slowly and condescendingly. "Tut tut tut. I expected _better_ of you. As the forger Itouikukuro, I have to stick as close to the original letters by "Ushiromiya Maria" as possible. I'm different from all those children of man because not only have I reached the truth, but also have I known the heart of "Maria". The key is _presentation_, my dear miko. And I can present it exactly like the originals _only_ because I have time and effort put into each forgery." While Ange silently conceded this point, she was still put off by how much the capricious woman across from her seemed to look down on her. Honestly, did she _have_ to begin her speech like that? She didn't even make a clicking noise, she just began by saying the phrase, "Tut tut tut!"

"You need to learn to _relax_, my precious, invaluable miko. All of that stress is likely to give you cancer~!" Featherine showed Ange an odd new face, this one seeming to be a combination of a pleasantly surprised look and a look that showed that a person was happy… because she was about to intellectually _rape_ someone. Ange withheld a shiver at the inappropriate joke made with a face that just screamed, "rapist!" She turned away and shuffled awkwardly, saying reluctantly, "O-Okay. Say I go along with your suggestion and read this book for you. Are you _sure_ something like this can help you finish "Dawn"? Promise me that you'll finish it after this so I can find out about my family." Ange, having regained her confidence, stood up, resolute in the face of the enigmatic and powerful being serving as her current "benefactor". This gesture was able to turn Featherine's expression back into her more normal smile, although even that was still garnished with a certain variety of smugness that only old and powerful witches could truly add. "But of course. In fact, why don't I sweeten the deal, and alleviate _your_ boredom as well as mine? I'll have you read this tale as if it's one of those fragments you've played in," Featherine responded to Ange, gently petting her cat, which was still apparently napping to her right, all the while. Ange was "mildly" surprised by this statement. "Can you really do that for things other than your own forgeries?" "I am the Witch of Theatergoing, Drama, and Spectating. I can do _anything_ that pertains to the act of observation, among other things~," Featherine said with a smug smirk. With a final sigh, as if Ange was resigned to going along with the witch's strange new idea, she opened the book and began to read aloud, the scenery around them quickly twisting and distorting to go along with Ange's words…

_Number 4 Privet Drive, still in the Middle of October, 1986_

The phrase "Witches" struck a chord in Harry as soon as he read it. Once his mind processed the word, it felt as if time had completely stopped for the boy; he seemed to hear what might have been a terrifying cackle, resounding within his memory for an uncomfortably long moment that felt like an eternity. Time resumed, and Harry looked around in a panic, as if to ask, "What just happened?". Even with that dreadful noise stuck in his head, the boy's interest was piqued. He still did not quite know why his uncle had become so violently upset, but knew in his heart that witches had something, no, EVERYTHING, to do with it. Steeling himself, he began to read further:

This morning, the investigation into the murder of the entire Ushiromiya family, as well as their entire staff of servants, from the island of Rokkenjima, was completed. The head of the family, Kinzo Ushiromiya, was the owner of a wealthy conglomerate, known for his love of Western culture, his love of the occult, and his general eccentricity. While he allegedly remained on Rokkenjima until the beginning of this month, all of his children and grandchildren were last seen on the morning of October 4th by a Captain Kawabata, who was hired by Kinzo to ferry his family to and from the island for their annual conference. He had this to say, when questioned about the whereabouts of the family: "Nothing seemed out of the ordinary that day. The Ushiromiyas hired me to ferry them to and from that island every year. I don't know what happened, but a big storm rolled in that night, and a few days later, when I headed back to bring everyone home, no one was around!" After a few days of searching, Eva Ushiromiya was found in a hidden mansion on the other side of the island. As the only known survivor of whatever happened on the island, authorities tried questioning her, but she has currently refused to make any statements on the matter. A few days after that, local fishermen found two letters, both of which were signed by Maria Ushiromiya, the only one whose remains could be found and identified. A piece of her jaw was the only body part that could be identified and placed with any of the family; dental records confirmed it to belong to Maria, who was 9 around the time of the incident. Her letters both make cryptic references to a supposed "Golden Witch", and are still being thoroughly examined. Various other body parts were found, forcing the police to conclude the deaths of the entire Ushiromiya family, save Eva and her niece Ange, who was too ill to go to the conference this year. They are both currently living together, with the former having inherited the entire Ushiromiya family's fortune. The Ushiromiya family in total was one of the richest and most influential families in the past decade; the massive corporate restructuring that has had to occur due to this tragedy features massive implications for the state of the Japanese economy, as well as that of the entire world. 

The article continued for longer than Harry cared for, going more deeply into the other members of the family and what would happen to whatever companies each of them lead. None of the financial matters interested him much; his attention was drawn back to the part mentioning Maria's letters. "A _Golden Witch_, huh…? What's wrong with witches?" As soon as Harry finished this sentence, time seemed to freeze again. This time, the cackling increased to an unbearable volume; if Harry wasn't so unnerved by it, he would've immediately covered his ears. As it stood, Harry settled for sweating profusely. He could almost swear he could hear the laughter directly behind him. No, that wasn't right - someone actually WAS laughing directly behind him, sealed cupboard be damned! "(Cackle), how nice, how nice! Word of my game board has even spread to the West, huh? Now, who could've summoned me? Surely not this scrawny little boy in front of me…" Somewhat offended, Harry turned around to give the mysterious lady a retort. "Look, I don't know who you are or how you got in here, but I'm not _that_-!"

As soon as his mind processed what he was looking at, Harry's response was cut off in favor of a look of pure slack-jawed awe. Instead of being in a dinky old cupboard beneath the stairs, both he and the cackling lady were in a lavishly furnished tea room, tinged purple by whatever was making the glow outside. The woman in front of Harry was even more amazing. Her attire looked expensive enough to put that plate of china Harry dropped look cheap and tawdry, as though it should be ashamed to even _call_ itself luxurious. She wore a dark brown dress decorated with gold all over, except for the deep red of the dress's chest area, which seemed designed solely to accent her unrealistically large breasts. In her hand was a fancy golden pipe, which she routinely smoked as she looked Harry over. She had golden hair tied up in a bun, and her eyes were a deep blue that Harry felt could pierce his soul like some divine lance. Her face seemed permanently set in an expression that could be described as an amused smile, the smile of a Cheshire cat. "You were saying something, _boyaaa_~?," the mysterious woman asked, elongating the last word in an apparent attempt to get a petty rise out of him. "I-I was saying, I'm _not _that scrawny, a-and I think it was very rude to call me that!," Harry said, in a laughable attempt to stand his ground against this intimidating and enigmatic lady. "How nice. I apologize for the insult, mister Sorcerer," she said, although Harry couldn't help but think she sounded slightly condescending even in apology. Not that Harry even knew what the word "condescending" meant at this point, but he's only 6. Give him time. Going back to her last word, Harry was startled at her accusation. "S-Sorcerer? Whatever do you mean, Miss-" "Beatrice." "Whatever do you _mean_, Miss Beatrice?" At this comment, the now-named Beatrice gave him an odd look, as if to say she was not amused by his ignorance. "You are a Sorcerer, are you not? You summoned me just now, so that implies that you can use magic. Isn't that right?," she asked him. This completely startled the boy. "_M-M-Magic_! Magic is _real_?"

"Look around you, boya. We aren't in a stuffy cupboard, _are_ we?" As if to punctuate her question, Beatrice waved her pipe around, letting Harry's eyes follow it across the corners of the tea room. Taking a closer look only made the tea room look even more elegant and mysterious. At Beatrice's urging, Harry looked at the ceiling, and was nearly blinded by the illumination of a chandelier decorated and seemingly powered by softly glowing crystals. With another wave of her pipe, Harry's attention was drawn to one of the windows, where he finally saw what was giving off that violently violet tinge. Crystals not dissimilar to what he had seen in the chandelier were floating outside of the room; they decorated the "sky" and seemed to outnumber and overpower the stars themselves. Harry also paid faint attention to the furniture near that window. The chair looked as though it had been made with the finest leather available, and was painfully tantalizing, seemingly begging the young boy to take a seat. The small tables set nearby were apparently made of a fine quality wood, and treated and polished to the point that the surface was entirely smooth. One last flick of Beatrice's pipe drew Harry's eyes to the floor, whose black and white pattern nearly mesmerized him. The material itself was high quality marble, though Harry didn't realize this due to being a child with burdens that superseded any potential curiosity about building materials. No, Harry was instead fascinated by how clean the floor itself was. He couldn't help but be amazed by how he could see his own reflection clearly in the tiles. Stepping back briefly, Harry noticed how his socks didn't even leave a mark where they were formerly positioned!

When she drew his attention back to her, he noticed a floating cup of tea in front of him, along with a croissant. "You're thirsty _and_ hungry, right? Feel free to have them, if you like." Still looking warily between Beatrice and the magically conjured refreshments, he took a tentative bite of the pastry. His eyes lit up in joy; this pastry alone was the best piece of food he had ever eaten! When he grew thirsty, he took a sip of the tea, which was also fantastic. "_Thank you so much, Miss Beatrice!_," Harry almost shouted to her. Unused to such gratitude, she gave him an uneasy smile back, waiting for him to finish his impromptu meal. Once both the tea and the croissant were no more, she waved her pipe again, banishing the empty cup in a burst of golden butterflies.

Getting back on topic, Harry addressed her once more. "So, you called me a Sorcerer, right? Does that mean I can make tea and bread, and get away from home, like you did just now?" These questions induced a brief chuckle from Beatrice. "I am The Golden Witch, a witch who has lived a thousand years, boya. Right_ now_, as you are, it's impossible. But maybe, if you learned magic _properly_, you could do all of this and _more_," Beatrice responded. At this statement, Harry got considerably less cheery, realizing that magic and witches set his aunt and uncle off very badly. "I-I don't think Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would like me to study magic. They might call me a freak…", Harry stated, clearly on the verge of tears. Beatrice's mood considerably darkened at the mention of Harry's family. Before his tears could begin to fall, Beatrice kneeled to his level and grabbed him on both shoulders. "Listen to me, boya. Your family does not _like_ Magic because they do not _understand_ it. Their disbelief is a potent anti-magic toxin that can _kill_ Witches and Sorcerers. Don't ever let their insults get to you; if you start believing in their hatred, your power _will_ fail you. _Promise me _you won't give in to their influence!" This time, even a small boy such as Harry could see that Beatrice was being completely and utterly serious; her mask of amused condescension was gone, replaced by a will that was tougher than the hardest diamond and hotter than the flames of hell. "I-I promise." "You promise what?" "I promise not to let my family break my spirits." "That's not good enough. _Say it in Red_!," Beatrice ordered. Although Harry couldn't even _begin_ to know what she was talking about, he endeavored to give his promise as earnestly and honestly as possible. This certain determination laced his words with an incredible power of undeniable truth. **"I promise not to let my family break my spirits!**,**" **Harry declared, his words coming out of his mouth with a crimson hue. As Harry watched his words float around the two of them, Beatrice stopped gripping his shoulders, and got up. She gave him the most genuine smile he had seen from her so far.

"How nice, how nice! Now then, do you want to learn magic from me, boyaaa~?," Beatrice addressed him once more, this time in a more endearing fashion. "…Harry Potter." "_Hahhh_?" Beatrice tilted her head at his declaration. "My name is Harry Potter, Miss Beatrice. Not "boya"," Harry proclaimed to her. The witch paused for a moment, seeming stunned at his cheek, before cackling loudly. "_Hari Pota_, huuu~h? How nice. Maybe you can _earn_ the right to have me call you that, boyaaa!", Beatrice responded playfully. "It's _Harry_, not - oh, never mind. So when do we start, Miss Beatrice?," Harry asked, clearly exasperated by her teasing, but not willing to argue on it further. "Now, now. You're my apprentice now, so "Miss Beatrice" won't do! Call me "_Oshishou-sama_"!," Beatrice exclaimed. "_O-O-what now_?," Harry asked, puzzled at her request. "O - Shishou - sama. It means "Teacher."" Harry was even more puzzled by this. "C-Can't I just call you Teacher, then?" "I'd prefer it if you called me Oshishou-sama, boyaaa; it's how I used to address my Teacher, after all!," Beatrice retorted. "Anyway, we can start right _now_, if you like…"

"Alright then, freak! My boss has already left, so get out and clean the dishes. And don't _break_ any of them this time!," Vernon yelled loudly to Harry, before unlocking and opening the cupboard. When he opened the door, he was startled by Harry's face, which was giving him a big, goofy grin. "Quit _daydreaming_, boy, and clean the dishes. You're _still_ not getting any dinner for the next week," Vernon grumbled, walking away and heading to the bedroom. A few minutes later, Vernon went back to the kitchen, grumbling this time about getting a late snack. Harry passed by him, heading back to his cupboard. Vernon turned around to yell, "Hey, I told you to clean the dishes! Get back there and finish cleaning!," but Harry simply pointed in the direction of the kitchen. Vernon turned back, only to find that not only were all of the dishes sparkling clean, but they were also neatly arranged in their proper places, the drawers all open, as if to show that fact off. "Well, close all of the drawers, next time," Vernon ordered indignantly to Harry, who he could have sworn did not stop smiling for even a second.

_Eva Ushiromiya's House, October, 1986_

Ange Ushiromiya opened her eyes, but found that she still could not see anything. It felt warm, and soft; she realized that she was being hugged by someone. She could feel some sort of wetness in the back of her shirt. She tried breaking free, but whoever this was had a strong grip; all she could do was wait for the person hugging her to stop holding on to her so tightly. It felt uncomfortably long to her, but when whoever it was finally let go, Ange ironically felt even _more_ awkward than she had before. "_E-Eva-oba-san!_," she squeaked out. Wait, _squeaked_? That's right; Ange had noticed she felt much weaker than she should as soon as she tried to escape Eva's grasp. Looking at herself, she gasped at her body, which was the tiny frame of her 6-year-old self. Eva, seemingly convinced that she was still in shock as to the state of her recently deceased family, kept firmly gripping Ange's shoulders as she talked. Ange noticed that Eva's eyes were red and puffy, and surmised that the wetness she felt at her back came from her tears. "I would _never_ have wanted this to happen to you, Ange, but don't worry - I'll protect you and raise you with all of my heart, just like Rudolf and Kyrie would've wanted!," Eva exclaimed. Ange, overwhelmed at what seemed to be an uncharacteristic display of affection from her aunt, shook her head. "_N-No_ - Why are you - I-I need to go!," she blurted out, before breaking from Eva's hold and running away to the bedroom she remembered staying in. As she turned around and ran, she heard her aunt's muffled sobs, urging her to run even faster.

_?, Some time in 1998_

Ange shook her head free of the disorienting feeling of being back in Featherine's place, before closing the book and glaring at the aforementioned witch. "What was that?," Ange demanded to know. "What was _what_?," Featherine responded, feigning ignorance. "You know _damn_ well what I'm talking about. What. _Was_ that?," Ange asked again, clearly not in the mood for her games. "I told you that I would let you experience it like one of Beato's fragments, correct?," Featherine asked rhetorically. "I have nothing to _do _with this book. So why was I playing my piece? Why were mine and Eva-oba-san's pieces on the game board in the _first_ place?," Ange yelled at her. "A correction, my wonderful and insightful miko: you _had_ nothing to do with the story. I changed things around a little, by incorporating the events of Rokkenjima into the timeline - with a few things I added a, shall we say, _personal_, touch to. You're sure to like the changes I made," Featherine stated matter-of-factly. This information did nothing to placate Ange. "_Why would you do that?_ I'm _sure_ I could've enjoyed the book as it was originally!," she said to the meddling witch sitting in front of her. Her expression remained as implacable as ever, to Ange's increasing ire. "I disagree. It would've been _boring_ if you just saw the events and couldn't interact with them in any way, and since you were not originally a part of this tale, that's what would've happened. You can truly experience this world more if you are honestly able to interact with it; _I_ just ensured that interaction was possible, Ohohohohoho~," she chuckled. Ange's right eye twitched at the sound of this infuriating woman's "dignified" laughter. "In any case, continue at once, my miko. I _insist_," the witch ordered her. Muttering a string of profanities under her breath, Ange opened the book once more, and turned the page…

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2: A painfully sweet tea party

**Disclaimer: I do not own the **_**Harry Potter **_**franchise, nor do I own **_**Umineko no naku koro ni**_** or anything else in the **_**When They Cry **_**series. They are the property of J.K. Rowling and Ryukishi07, respectively.**

**Author's Note: **Thanks go to InsertCatchphrase for adding this story to his/her/its Story Alert subscription. Without InsertCatchphrase, this chapter would most likely have come out several weeks later than it did. InsertCatchphrase, your direct feedback would be _greatly_ appreciated! After all, reviews with constructive criticism are worth their weight… (Puts on shades) in GOLD. (YEEEEEAAAAAHHH)

_Beatrice's Tea Room, in the Middle of October, 1986_

"Oshishou-sama, why did you have me fetch these books?," Harry asked his new teacher, Beatrice. She gave him a knowing smirk, replying, "Is that whiiiining I hear from my new protégé?" Harry fervently shook his head, as he answered to the best of his ability. "N-No, Ma'am, I was just wondering why you had me get these books myself. C-Couldn't you just teach me on your own? Also, what does "protégé" mean?" At this, Beatrice palmed her face lightly. "Right. Sometimes I forget you're only six. Protégé is just a fancy word for student, or apprentice." That explanation clicked in Harry's mind, as could be told from his eyes widening. "Oh, so it's kind of like how I'm supposed to call you Oshishou-sama instead of Teacher?" "Yes, exactly. Now, will you let me continue?," Beatrice responded, lightly annoyed by Harry's epiphany interrupting her explanation. The boy put up his hands in defense. "S-Sorry, Oshishou-sama." Simply nodding her head at his apology, she made a "tsk"-sounding noise with her mouth, before waving her golden pipe and making what was perhaps the most important book Harry had obtained from the nearby library float in front of them.

A large and heavy tome, it was bound in rough leather, and its pages seemed old, but not very worn out, as though the book had only been read once or twice, before being hidden amongst innumerable books of similar girth, in a shelf located within one of the most secluded and inconspicuous areas of the library. Beatrice "chi"'d this time, a sound which was similar in use yet fundamentally different from her "tsk" noise, before taking a long drag of her pipe and then blowing the smoke from her mouth. Harry tilted his head in confusion at this, before marveling at how the smoke wrapped around the book, completely covering it before Harry could even blink. After blinking, Harry saw the smoke dissipate to reveal a similar-looking book, but far more noticeable. It literally hummed as it floated in midair from Beatrice's magic, and gave off a dull whitish glow; the book just radiated magical power, none of which (Floating Charm aside) was Beatrice's. Harry could see that several pages were dog-eared pretty deeply; the book opened, furiously flipping through pages until it stopped at a dog-eared page with the name "Ronove" at the top. The messy-haired boy could only surmise that this happened to be Beatrice's personal copy of the book, considering the dog eared pages, and saying nothing of the countless handwritten notes and doodles on the sides of the pages he could see.

"_The Goetia: The Lesser Key of Solomon the King _is an essential part of any Witch's curriculum. It is the text that I learned from when I was a fledgling magic user myself, and I am proud to say that my Compendium is that much stronger for it. The Endless and Golden magic I possess isn't something you can get just like _that_," Beatrice lectured, emphasizing her point with a loud snap. "If you wish to learn from and adopt my own magical Compendium, you need to learn the basics, first. Do you really want to learn my magic, boyaaa?," the witch drawled to Harry, who had turned beet red in embarrassment. "Y-Yes, Oshishou-sama! I'm sorry for doubting you on this matter," Harry said, bowing repeatedly to her. She gave a bemused smile, patting Harry's head in acknowledgement. "Very well, boya. Now, do you know why I had you bring the other books?," the Golden Witch inquired, before dispelling her floating charm and allowing her copy of the_ Ars Goetia_ to gently float to the ground of its own volition. Harry turned his head at the other books, all of which Beatrice made float in the place of the mighty magical tome. These were different from the glowing grimoire in just about every possible way, being a variety of more modern novels. They were a small plethora of mystery novels, ranging from some of S.S. Van Dine's early work, to a smattering of Agatha Christie stories. His brief glance finished, Harry snapped his head back to Beatrice, before fervently shaking it in order to affirm Beatrice's suspicions. "You remember that brief discussion we had on the Anti-Magic Toxin the other day, right?" At Harry's nod, she continued. "In order to keep ourselves insulated from people's disbelief, we witches and sorcerers developed a method of disguising our presences, in order to effectively use our powers. So long as we hide from humans and disguise our methods in the form of Mystery, we can use our magic freely and without fail. And, the more adept we are at Mystery, the less people can deny our existence and harm us with the Anti-Magic Toxin! By reading these novels and learning the various tricks to mysteries, you will learn to use your magic more practically, and without alerting the likes of your "family"," she finished, visibly separating the last word in a clear sense of disgust.

Harry's eyes widened at this information. "You mean if I read these books and learn a lot from them, I can use as much magic as I want without Uncle Vernon yelling at me?" Beatrice responded by cackling in a way that Harry would consider evil and ominous, if she wasn't his personal teacher. "Boya, by the time I'm done teaching you, I promise you'll be able to do _far_ more than that!" The six year old beamed at her, and said, "You're the best teacher _ever_, Oshishou-sama!," before hugging her tightly. This act of affection surprised her enough to make her drop all of the mystery novels, which all gracelessly landed to the floor in a series of thuds, unlike the majestic book before them. After half a second of contemplation, she hugged him back. Although his view was blocked by the fancy dress, Harry could feel the warmth of what might very well have been the sincerest smile she had ever given him, gently caressing him as if it was a ray of Summer sunshine.

_Purgatorio, in Early October, 1986_

"Be~roberobero!," the boisterous teenager stated, looking at the maid next to Harry perversely, as though he wanted to touch her inappropriately. To be honest, Harry had no idea what any of these people, the two servants included, were talking about, which wasn't strange, considering that the boy didn't know a word of Japanese beyond the term "Oshishou-sama". Why was he here, again…? "Listen carefully, boya. I have invited several special guests to a tea party nearby, so I can't teach you today. However, would you like to help out with the preparations? Two of the guests, Kanon and Shannon, could use some help providing the refreshments," said Beatrice in a quick flashback. Harry distinctly remembered his response: "I would _love_ to help, Oshishou-sama! It would be nice to see some of your magical friends!" Of course, Beatrice had a suspicious smile as he said that. Ugh, _why_ didn't he pick up on that earlier? And why didn't she mention that none of the guests seemed to speak English? In fact, none of them even seemed to _register_ the lightning-scarred boy's presence… _What are you _up_ to, Oshishou-sama…?_

Harry looked again at all of the guests, as he moved quickly to refill their cups with fresh black tea. There was someone who he imagined he would look a lot like when he grew up, only with Asian facial features, well-groomed hair and no lightning bolt scar on his forehead. He wore a bright yellow suit that seemed to suit him just fine, in spite of how…gaudy, that shade of yellow normally seemed. A girl was sitting near him, who seemed a few years younger than the rest of the guests, save the male servant. Her hair was a shade of blonde distinctly different from his teacher's golden locks, and her eyes were a brighter blue. Despite these Western features, she still spoke perfect Japanese. Her attire consisted of a purple button-up shirt and a skirt that was two different shades of red. A cheerful little girl, who Harry guessed to be around his age, if not slightly older, had her own seat near the table. She wore a dress that was black from the bottom to the end of her chest, and pink from her arms up to the collar. There was a golden one-winged eagle embroidered on the girl's left chest area-actually, now that Harry thought about it, that same eagle seemed embroidered on all of the guests' clothing, including the servants. However, this fact did not draw his attention as much as the fancy black crown that leaned on top of the only other child's orange-brown hair. How did that thing stay on her head…? On closer inspection, Harry noticed that ribbons tied the crown from the middle of the brunette's chin. Finally, Harry looked at the energetic teenager from before, who was now looking quietly at the rest of the guests as they engaged in spirited conversation that Harry could not understand a word of, aside from uu's, a few mentions of his master Beatrice, and some occasional talk about last epilogues, whatever that meant.

He seemed to be older than the blonde, but younger than the maid and the man who looked like Harry. His eyes were a piercing blue not unlike those of Harry's Oshishou-sama, and his hair was a deep red mess of spikes that made Harry's permanent case of bed-head look downright tame. He wore a cream-white suit jacket and matching pants, though the jacket was easily more noticeable, perhaps due to the upside-down cross that served as a zipper. The golden eagle was embroidered on the teenager's right side of his jacket's chest, with a series of golden buttons on the opposite end. This jacket was complimented by traces of what seemed to be a black vest, and a red button-up shirt underneath that vest which was a slightly brighter shade than the youth's hair; it featured a golden button on the left collar alone, for some odd reason. Finishing the ensemble was a plain, but very smooth-looking black tie. All in all, Harry thought that this group gave off an impression of wealth, although none of them seemed to want to particularly show off about it. As he moved to give the redhead some more of Beatrice's delicious vanilla cookies, the teenager's calculating gaze suddenly shifted from the rest of the group to Harry himself. He gave Harry a quizzical look, as if to say, "Huh…?," and the six year old felt his face turning as red as his onlooker's hair at the sudden attention; after all, this was the first time since the boy had started serving the group, that anyone had seemed to notice him.

Forgoing eye contact, Harry's attention turned to the aforementioned servants. Shannon, the maid, wore a typical maid's outfit, modified by the Ushiromiya crest on her left leg. Her hair was a nondescript dark brown, and her tone of voice seemed to indicate a general feeling of submission, but with hidden undertones that Harry couldn't place. As ashamed as he would be to admit it, the most distinct feature Harry could see were her breasts, which he estimated to be about as large as his teacher's were. Her age was hard to place, but if Harry had to guess, she looked to be somewhere between the redhead and the Harry look-alike. Kanon, who Harry guessed was related to Shannon simply by name and overall facial structure, seemed to be the second youngest of the group, being shorter than everyone aside from the little girl and Harry himself. It was initially very hard for the six-year-old to tell what gender Kanon was; because his face and Shannon's were so similar, Harry would have easily guessed him to be her younger sister. As it stood, Harry could just barely tell Kanon's gender from his eyelashes and his general figure. He had an extremely reserved and serious expression on his face, unlike his sister's meeker yet more expressive personality. He wore a black dress shirt with white cuffs and a white collar, which had the one-winged eagle on its left side. A brooch around the collar attached a purple handkerchief-looking thing to compliment the top. The bottom of his outfit consisted of puffy maroon shorts and some nondescript brown shoes with zebra-striped socks. A new sound made Harry's observations of these people's appearances immediately stop. It was the sound of the young girl taking out some paper from her purse, which Harry had not paid much attention to, as the young crowned brunette kept it permanently hanging from her left forearm, not having had to take anything out before this. As everyone aside from the redhead chattered with one another excitedly around this new paper, the redhead addressed everyone, this time in a way which Harry surprisingly understood:

"Wait a second, you guys. I've been listening to you guys for a while. Why did you all stop thinking? Why are you so sure that the witch was behind all of this…? Don't you realize something like this can't exist?" Just like that, the entire mood of the tea party grew rather…ominous, in a way not dissimilar to how the Golden Witch had first appeared in Harry's life. Immediately putting aside the fact that the redheaded teenager now seemed to be speaking in perfect American English, Harry, insulted by his bold accusation, replied. "Just who do you think you _are_, assuming that magic can't exist?," the boy yelled in his best attempt to intimidate the teenager. Unfortunately, this only drew the attention of the rest of the group, who all gave him curious looks, aside from the little girl, who looked satisfied at his question, but in an eerie way, similar to his teacher's occasional suspicious-looking smile. The redhead steepled his hands together and closed his eyes for a moment, looking rather…irritated, but calmly responded nonetheless, just after he unsteepled his hands and reopened his eyes. "I could ask you the same thing, kid. I just realized this, but this kid's been serving us this whole time, and no one aside from me even _noticed_ him until just now," he stated to the rest of the group; even Kanon and Shannon were surprised at this. "Who are you and why were you serving us with Kanon-kun and Shannon-chan?," he continued, pointing his finger at and apparently pressing the attack on Harry. The boy broke out into a cold sweat. "H-Harry Potter, sir. J-Just a fledgling Sorcerer from Surrey," he nervously replied, touching his index fingers together in a fashion reminiscent of a certain shy kunoichi from a series that has nothing to do with any of this and will probably not be mentioned by me again. To this response, his impromptu interrogator smiled a little, before shaking his head and speaking again. "It's useless, it's all useless. I've never heard of you, Mister Potaa, but I know for a fact that magic and witches don't exist. They have no place in our murder, and I will have all of you thinking again, or my name isn't Ushiromiya Battler!"

Harry blanched at this new information. He would have found this guy's first name to be rather strange, and would have pointed it out to him, as well as the fact that he mispronounced his last name, but the last name struck him even more strongly. "U-Ushiromiya? You're the family that got killed recently! Just what's Oshishou-sama planning…?," Harry wondered aloud, causing Battler to pick up exactly where we left off. He got closer to the boy, and folded his arms. His stature alone served to intimidate him further, as he continued to question him. "That's right. Who is this "Teacher" of yours, and what is she doing?" "I-I don't know! She just said she invited you to a tea party, and I volunteered to help Miss Shannon and Mr. Kanon with the refreshments! A-anyway, you shouldn't talk about magic like that! You'll produce the Anti-Magic Toxin," Harry said, trying valiantly to stand up to the perturbed redhead. "Uu-! Even _he_ gets Beatrice-sama's magic! You're really making a fool of yourself, Battler…Kihihihihii!," the little girl commented behind the two of them, to Battler's consternation. He picked up the six-year-old, and set him down on an empty chair, before walking away and turning around to address the group once more.

"I'm the one making a fool out of myself! Why is everyone else so quick to believe in this witch? Where did this Harii kid come from?," Battler yelled. His eyes were tightly shut, as if the behavior of everyone else was hard for him to imagine, and he had his hands to his ears, unwilling to listen to magic-related reasoning. This entire display annoyed Harry further, the continued mispronunciation of his name only the least of his concerns. He plead to the air, knowing that Beatrice was watching somewhere. "Could you please come out now, Oshishou-sama? This atmosphere _should_ still be enough for you to appear in…" At this demand, Battler opened his eyes again, and put his hands to his sides. "You can't be serious. Am I really supposed to believe that magic exists, and that you're really talking to someone, kid? I don't know how you got here, but there's no way Magic can-," Battler tried saying, getting cut off suddenly by lightning suddenly striking outside. Everyone, save for the crowned girl and Harry, grew somber at something, and tilted their heads downwards, as if they were about to be scolded. Harry had an expression that could best be described as relief, while his female counterpart had a big smile on her face that made Battler uncomfortable. "Oh, no need to stop on _my_ account. Go on, Ushiromiya Baaattoraa," the boy's beloved Oshishou-sama said, directly behind Battler before he even realized it. In response, he broke out into a cold sweat, before slowly turning around. Judging from her tone, Harry had the feeling that Beatrice had one of her bemused smiles adorning her face, though his view of her was being blocked by Battler's body. As the redhead continued to be astonished at her presence, she spotted Harry and the girl, and waved at both of them cheerfully, before turning back to Battler and getting back to her original expression.

"I can't believe this…You guys are going to _these_ kinds of lengths to convince me of this crap? No matter _what_ kind of playacting you guys choose to subject me to, there's no way that magic exists!," Battler yelled to Beatrice, who remained nonchalant at his open defiance. "How stubborn can you possibly be? What do we have to do to convince you that magic exists?," Harry yelled, genuinely angered at Battler's boorish behavior. "Don't worry about this moron, boya. I'll handle this," Beatrice said in reply, before refocusing her attention on Battler. "Well then, Battoraaa, what kind of argument would you use to show how, say, Eva and Hideyoshi were killed by human means?"

_Five Minutes Later…_

Harry covered his ears as Battler screamed in abject horror. He couldn't blame him, though. After seeing everyone in the party dissolve into puddles of red goo and chunks of bone one by one, Harry barely resisted the urge to do that himself, instead violently retching and seeing the contents of his lunch on the ground. Beatrice quickly patted his head in an attempt to comfort him, but he turned his head and glared at her in response, obviously upset at the surprising end of the tea party. She flinched at this, before deciding to glare at Battler for his foolishness. "That was unnecessary, Ushiromiya Battler," she addressed him seriously for the first time. "Because of you, my apprentice was subjected to this display. What do you have to say for yourself?" Battler turned his head at the witch, being upset like her, but for obviously different reasons. "I won't forgive you, I'll NEVER forgive you! A witch? Magic! I'd risk my body and soul to deny you…! No matter what happens, I can't accept you! Now that you've gone so far to piss me off, I'll never forgive you!

"I won't forgive, I won't forgive, I definitely won't forgive you! You'll regret making me, Ushiromiya Battler, your enemy! I'll deny you no matter what! No matter how baffling things get, it can all be explained by "humans"! I'll erase every cell of you from this world!," Battler boldly declared, pointing his finger at her in conjunction with his final statement. Beatrice closed her eyes and took a long draw of her pipe, before blowing the smoke to the side and responding. "Very well then, Ushiromiya Battler. Now that you have so foolishly made yourself an enemy of a witch who has lived for over a millennium, it will be my duty and pleasure to show you the error of your ways. So, come at me with your petty, pathetic "reasoning"! Try to explain it all with "human tricks"! You will learn in time, just how lowly humans are…!

"Can your measly century of human tricks compare to my thousand? I already know the answer, and forcing you to learn it will just make it all the more pleasant for me! So, tell me, Battler! What about Maria's letter? How the six were killed? The receipt's seal? The closed room with the chain? Kanon in the boiler room? Genji and the others in the lounge! Natsuhi's suicide! The riddle of the epitaph! The location of the hidden gold!

"Don't look away from this game of ours, boya! I will show both you and Battler exactly how the power of "humans" measures up!" With this final statement, Beatrice gave the most chilling laugh that Harry had heard from her yet, and golden butterflies surrounded the three of them, transporting Harry and his master to the familiar locale of the tea room, while Battler went elsewhere. Another witch, this time a petite woman with cold, soulless-looking eyes, hair that Harry could swear was a purplish-blue, and a similarly-colored dress, sat across from the two of them. She took a sip of the tea on the table next to her, before setting it back down and opening her mouth to speak to them…

_The Tea Room, Five Minutes Later_

As the mysterious Voyager witch, Bernkastel, left the odd pair, Harry imitated Battler, steepling his hands in a way that would be adorable in a precocious manner, if he wasn't so clearly irritated. Beatrice held a similar expression, and took another long drag of her pipe, before addressing her pupil. "Is something the matter, boya?" Harry responded to this question by giving her a look somewhere between incredulity and genuine anger. "…What was that all about, Oshishou-sama." It was noticeably not phrased as a question. "You have a long way to go before demanding anything of _me_, boy," the witch replied, dropping her term of endearment in order to show her seriousness. "Well then, _would you please explain to me why all of that needed to happen?_," Harry asked, forgoing his referral of her as Oshishou-sama in response. He was seriously close to outright yelling at the woman. "What would you like me to explain first?" "First of all, what exactly do you have to do with the Ushiromiya family? I read the paper that I summoned you with, and now this…? Why would you…kill…that family? And why did you revive them like that? Don't try to lie to me. Like I said earlier when I called you, Mr. Battler's Anti-Magic Toxin wasn't enough to do anything, _especially_ not with the rest of us believing in you. You could've _easily_ kept up your resurrection spell, but chose to let the rest of those guests die right in front of us. _Why?_ To make a point to him? To make him hate you, and try to kill you? _Why was that show of force needed, Beatrice?_," Harry inquired, finishing by pounding his fist to the arm of his chair.

"It's hard to explain all of that. On my reasons, I will only say that Battler Ushiromiya has sinned, and that I have now locked him into this punishment game of mine because of it," Beatrice responded, keeping her eyes closed not unlike her former teacher, but for entirely different reasons. She then continued to speak, her eyes still closed. "When witches such as myself live for as long as we do, Boredom is our greatest hurdle. It is the other poison that can kill witches, slower and less potent than the toxin of Disbelief, but burning so much more persistently. I will not lie to you, boy: the Sweet World of Witches is often _filled_ with our cruelty." Harry's anger was only heightened by this information. "Are you telling me that witches and sorcerers do all of that horrible stuff to people_ just because they're bored?_ That's not a good reason to torture or kill people; NOTHING is!" "Don't be a fool like that Battler, _boy_. I taught you better than that. You saw what my magic can do. When we get powerful enough, Witches and Sorcerers can revive people with a snap of their fingers, _regardless_ of their Compendium. Whether Lady Bernkastel uses her power over Miracles to bring someone back to life, or I use my Endless Magic to revive people endlessly, the results are still the same. Tell me, boy: why should we care about people's lives when we can bring them back to life just as easily as killing them?"

Harry didn't even need to think about this for a second, before replying to that. "Because it's still wron-" "What's wrong _about_ it, boy? What's the meaning of "wrong"?" Unfortunately, Beatrice's rebuttal was just as quick. This new question made Harry think further, but only for a minute. "I think that "wrong" is when you get people hurt! It doesn't _matter_ if you can fix them right after! Causing people pain is _still_ not right!" Beatrice took another drag of her pipe, before speaking in response to that. "Does that really apply to _all_ cases? What about your awful family, hmm? Ever since you've started to learn magic, haven't you ever felt the urge to cause them pain, punish them for foolishly causing you problems and making you suffer no matter how nice you are to them?" This question caused Harry to flinch, shrinking back in horror as he realized that she was right on the mark. _Have I been wrong all this time?_, Harry thought to himself, as Beatrice seriously looked at him. "_Well?_ Have you realized your mistake in challenging_ me_, a witch who has lived over a thousand years, to an argument? _Answer me, Harry Potter!_," she yelled, saying his name properly for the first time as she cornered him.

The immense pressure of the Golden Witch's glare forced him to think quickly, and attempt to win this argument before she could gain any more ground. "No matter how much I want to hurt my family back, I _still_ won't do it, Beatrice! I know that they don't like me, don't want me, and bully me around because they won't understand our Magic! But it wouldn't be right for me to hurt them back with my magic. All that you're doing by pushing around and hurting normal people is _bullying_ them, and if I started doing it, I wouldn't be any better than them. I won't hurt them, because I know that if I did that, I would be even _worse_ than them!"

"So, no matter what they do to you, you still won't stand up for yourself?," Beatrice asked. "That's not it. It doesn't _matter_ what they do to me now. Thanks to what you taught me, I can bear with their hate. Why? Because I made a promise. **I promised not to let my family break my spirits!**," Harry explained, using the red treasured sword he had attained to slice through Beatrice's arguments. She looked him directly in the eyes, impressed at his resolve, yet annoyed at his reasoning.

"…Chi. You make a valid point, boya. But now, what do you want me to do? You heard the fool; he won't rest until he kills me and erases my existence. _Neither_ of us can back out of this battle, now," the Golden Witch explained to him, once again making him uncertain. She waited a second, seeing if he had a response; hearing nothing, she smoked from her pipe, before continuing. "Well, I guess there's nothing you can do about _that_. I suppose the better question now would be, what do _you_ want to do?," Beatrice said, making him tilt his head quizzically, before she continued once more. "You have learned about the ugly side of Magic from this tea party. You have also seen firsthand how cruel I can be, and how "wrong" my methods may seem. Do you still want to learn my Magic, and discover what our power can _really_ do? Answer me, Harry Potter," she demanded of him once again, this time in a much calmer fashion.

"I-I…I've already learned a little bit of what Magic can do, and I'm not sure I could _ever_ agree with how cruel witches can be. What I am sure of, though, is this: You are my teacher, and no matter what happens, I will _always_ love and accept you for it. Can you still teach me your magic? I want to use it to help people in need, instead of just helping myself…," Harry said. He saw Beatrice truly smile for the first time since the time they first met, and felt her warmth just like that time they had hugged one another, only to blanch as she suddenly broke out into a fit of laughter. "_W-What's so funny, Oshishou-sama?_" "(Cackle) That last sentence, boya, just sounded like something my predecessor, the person who _I_ called Oshishou-sama, used to say to me. She would always tell me that Magic was created to help people, and that the power of the Endless Witch shouldn't be used to cause them trouble. Are you trying to suck up to me by imitating my teacher, boooyaaa~?," Beatrice wondered, going back to teasing her apprentice with his moniker of "boya". The mood of the conversation had considerably lightened up from how it started.

"_N-No_, I didn't even-_Are you making fun of me again?_," Harry replied in faux-outrage. "(Cackle)(Cackle) I can't help it, boyaaa. Gullible fools like you and Battler are sooo much fuuun to tease," the witch claimed. Getting back on topic, Harry leapt off of his chair and stood proudly in front of Beatrice, as he looked her in the eye and resumed speaking to her. "So, will you still be okay with teaching a "gullible fool" like me?" Beatrice once again gave him a genuine smile in return. "But of course, my cute little apprentice! Yes, teaching you might stave off my boredom even more than my game with Battler…Very well then, boya! Be prepared to learn more of my magic, starting tomorrow! My lessons may be tough for fools to learn, but don't worry; I'll have you acting like a true Sorcerer yet!," she said to him, closing her eyes and giving him a delighted grin at the end. Harry smiled back at her, firmly intent on teaching her the value of kindness in return for her tutelage. The events of the "day" now over, Harry slept in his cupboard, a determined smile still on his face. Even with all of the troubles with the Dursleys and now the Ushiromiyas looming over him in the near future, Harry knew that as long as he kept his red treasured sword in one hand and his budding magical talents in the other, he would be able to overcome them.

_To be continued...  
_


	3. Chapter 3: An Unhappy Tanabata

**Disclaimer: I do not own the **_**Harry Potter **_**franchise, nor do I own **_**Umineko no naku koro ni**_** or anything else in the **_**When They Cry **_**series. They are the property of J.K. Rowling and Ryukishi07, respectively. I also do not own **_**The Elder Scrolls **_**series, **_**Neon Genesis Evangelion**_**, the **_**Blazblue **_**series, **_**Baccano**_**, YouTube, **_**Naruto**_**, or TV Tropes**_**. **_**I **_**used **_**to own the former, but then I took an [REDACTED] in the knee…I wish.**

**Author's Note: **While I certainly appreciate that several people have favorited this story or otherwise put it on alert, I am somewhat disappointed in the fact that only a couple of people have bothered to review it so far. Some input would be very nice, you know…if I received more reviews and got some constructive criticism, then I could use that to help make _Sorcerer's Catbox _better! Yeah, you know that little CSI gag I did back in Chapter 2? In all seriousness, listen to me on that! Please, don't be afraid to review this work, and don't be afraid to speak up when you see my mistakes. That is all I ask. (For now.)

Oh, and before I forget, if you have trouble thinking of the guy's voice near the end of the chapter, I imagined him as being either voiced by Tetsuya Kakihara doing his Jin voice (In a subbed version), or Jerry Jewell doing a less-accented version of his Claire Stanfield voice (In a dubbed version). So, there. Pick your poison, readers. And go to YouTube and look them up, if you haven't played or watched either series, respectively.

* * *

_Eva Ushiromiya's House, Tanabata 1987_

It had been over half a year since Ange had begun reliving her childhood with Eva, and each day made Ange more and more uncomfortable. _Was Eva oba-san really this nice to me?_, she contemplated. Over twelve years, their bitterness and dissatisfaction with one another had honestly clouded Ange's mind, and until these past few months in the kakera (fragment) Featherine had inserted her into, that irritable mood was all that Ange ever remembered seeing from her estranged guardian. Even taking a small break from "reading" and exiting to Featherine's territory did nothing to assuage the beleaguered miko's confusion on the matter. She drank a large portion of the tea in her cup, quenching her dry throat, yet still failing to calm her in any way. Featherine's gaze did not help in any way, either, having gone back to forming that unsettling smile of hers. "Is something the matter, my miko? Something tells me you suddenly paused the story for more than just a dry throat."

"It's nothing, Featherine. Just…thinking about things." _Talking to someone like you about this would just be more trouble than it's worth, anyway_, Ange silently added to her response, doing her best to school her features back to her usual façade of apathy.

"Very well, then. Please, continue further. I insist." Her face was still set in that damned smile that nearly made Ange shudder. When the teenage witch continued to read, she resumed the form of her childhood self, nearly ready to go to bed, before Eva came up to her, kneeling down and grabbing her by the shoulders before starting to speak.

"Ange, you don't need to act so…perfectly, for my sake," she said in the kindest yet firmest voice possible. This statement greatly confused the "child", who could only respond with a simple, "_Huh?_". At this, Eva looked her straight in the eye, causing her to break out into a sweat. "Don't play dumb with me. I know you're feeling compelled to act formally and politely whenever we're around other people. Is it because you think that's what my child George would've done?"

"I, um…" Now _what do I do? I was just going through the motions Eva oba-san taught me, the first time we lived together! I can't explain it like that, she'll think I'm crazy…! What do I do, what do I _do_?_, Ange panicked as she kept stuttering, a possible explanation for her behavior beyond her currently distressed thoughts.

"Listen to me, Ange," Eva continued, putting an immediate stop to her panicking. "We are connected because we are aunt and niece. But, we are also connected in that I have lost a child, and you have lost your parents. And we cannot trick each other into thinking of each other as replacements for our lost family. You're not George, Ange. You never will be. But even so, I think of you as my _own _child. So if you…could allow that, then I'd like you to think of me as your mother, and I want you to rely on me for whatever you need," Eva said, embracing Ange not unlike how she had months prior.

"Right now, we cannot forget the scars on our hearts, and together we have forgotten how to smile. However, I believe that this would surely sadden my child and your parents. …Wouldn't it be alright if we could remember how to smile, if only a little bit at a time? Of course, we can't do this right away. We have to remember our forgotten smiles bit by bit. That's why…I've decided that from today on, I'll try my best to practice smiling. Isn't that good? Now you don't have to act like George to try making me happy. Ange-chan, can you try to let _yourself_ feel happiness, now? If you ever remember how to smile…please show me, too. I feel that if we do that, we'll be able remember how to smile even more."

Ange was overwhelmed by Eva's concern for her. She didn't even know how to respond to this rediscovered outpouring of kindness from someone who she solely remembered as a heartless and cruel witch, someone who had tormented her and belittled her on a near-daily basis, even on her deathbed. "I-I…y-you…I need to go to bed!" And so, the teenage girl in the body of her younger self ran away from her aunt once again. The aforementioned aunt sighed and put the palm of her right hand on her face.

"What would you do in this situation…George…Hideyoshi?"

Ange retreated to her own bedroom this time, knowing it would only irritate Featherine if the story had to come to a pause once more. Tears had formed in her eyes from sheer frustration, and in fact fell from her face as she spoke to no one in particular. "I don't understand. _Why is she being so kind to me? _How did our relationship become so…_twisted_?" She had been fully prepared to hate her aunt and be hated in return, but just now, and even in the past few months, she had been shown nothing but affection and understanding. _Was I just too caught up in my own misery to see her this way?_, she wondered. Her eyes clouded with tears as she once again thought aloud. "_I DON'T KNOW! I don't know what to do anymore!_" She went to bed, still weeping uncontrollably until she was deep in merciful slumber. Tied to her bedpost was a bamboo branch with a small piece of paper hanging from it; "I wish for my family to come home," was written on it. But that Tanabata tradition scarcely mattered to a girl too distraught to even remember to pray for her wish to come true before heading to bed…

* * *

_Beatrice's Tea Room, July 1987_

"_Congratulations, Hari Potaa! (Cackle)_," Harry's teacher greeted him as soon as he entered the tea room that had also served as his place of study for the past few months. He was…nonplussed by this sudden greeting, to say the least.

"W-What are you congratulating me for, Oshishou-sama?," he squeaked out as Beatrice opened her eyes and looked at him for the first time that day, the huge smile he had seen at first glance never leaving her face or diminishing.

"Don't you know what the occasion is? _It's Tanabata, boyaa!_," she responded to him matter-of-factly.

"T-Tanabata? What's that?"

"_Haaah? _People don't celebrate Tanabata in your country?" Her smile deflated as she said this, turning into a small frown as Harry nodded in affirmation. "Oh, how sad…I was hoping to grant a wish of yours, but I guess it's pointless if you didn't have one in mind…," she thought aloud, turning around and actually curling up into a ball as she hugged her knees to her chest and started making circles in the floor with the index finger of her free hand.

"Don't be so sad, Oshishou-sama! I-If you want, I can come up with a wish right now," Harry said as he patted her back in an attempt to reassure her. He thankfully did not see her face, which was secretly making that trademark Cheshire Cat grin, as if to say to herself, _Hook, line, and sinker…_

"Aaa~lright, boyaa… So, what kind of wish do you want me to grant?," the sneaky witch said as she turned around and stood tall once again, even going as far as to have a triumphant grin on her face. This sudden mood switch made even Harry, a six-year-old boy on the cusp of becoming seven, suspicious of her. He briefly gave her a hooded glance, before turning around and putting a hand on his chin, now deep in thought.

"Hmm… Would it be okay for me to finally see that game board you have Mr. Battler playing?" At this question, Beatrice seriously frowned.

"How many times have we gone over this, boya? You aren't ready to experience those games yet-"

"_And when _will _I be ready?_," Harry suddenly replied, startling her with his sudden forcefulness. "You said that you'd show me your game with Mr. Battler. But it's been months and I haven't even _seen _him, anywhere! And every time I've asked you about it, you've always told me, "You're not ready," or, "The game board is still being set up."

"I have done nothing but read through these mystery novels and the _Ars Goetia_ this entire time, and you haven't even let me so much as _glance _at your game board. If I need to experience what Magic can really do, then I would need to do more than just _read _about it, right? You told me not to look away from your challenge. _How can I do that if you won't let me look in the first place?_," he finished his tirade as he turned around and regarded his teacher seriously. While he was still nowhere near as intimidating as he tried presenting himself as, his resolute wish still obviously got to his Teacher, as she turned around herself and sighed wearily.

"Haaaahhh…okay then, boya. I wanted another few months to prepare you, but it wouldn't hurt for you to have some practical experience. Aah, how _frustrating_~! Why couldn't you have asked for a simpler wish, like, "I wish for the Dursleys to all turn into pigs," or, "I wish for a pony,"?," Beatrice said as she furiously scratched at her hair with both hands. After a moment, she sighed once more and tidied her golden tresses back up to their original state, before turning to face Harry and resume talking, with her eyes closed.

"Now, I'm only going to ask you one more time. Are you sure this is the wish you want me to grant? This will be the most difficult trial you will face yet, but if you want to learn how a witch like me _really _uses her magic, then you will have to overcome it. What is your answer? Do not dawdle, my apprentice," Beatrice finished. The Golden Witch, eyes still closed in irritation, waited. And waited. And waited some more, before veins became visible in her forehead. "I told you to stop dawdling, boya! What's the matter-huh? Harry?," she said in confusion, opening her eyes to find that he had gone outside the Tea Room, presumably sometime during her speech.

* * *

_Number 4 Privet Drive, July 1987_

Harry was startled by the sudden opening of his cupboard-I mean, "room", as the Dursley patriarch gave his estranged nephew his trademark glare. "We're back, boy. Set up the table so we can eat dinner."

"Y-Yes, sir," Harry replied meekly in acquiescence to Vernon's command. _I wasn't expecting them to come back so soon…How frustrating!_, he said to himself, taking out the dishes and silverware. Done putting the plates and such on the table, he went to get the glasses and fill them with water, before suddenly pausing to look at the "souvenir" Dudley was gushing about. It was a fairly small green bottle, with several small, yet meticulously-folded pieces of paper inside it. "Hah! Take a look at Harry, Dad, Mum! He's so jealous of my awesome souvenir that he's speechless! I bet you wished you could go to the beach with us, too! Maybe you could've gotten a little souvenir of your own there…Not!," the immature little brat finished, with a haughty laugh that really showed off his pig-like snout.

"Now, now, Dudley, we still need to open that bottle up before you can keep it," Petunia chided him lightly as she took the bottle. The Dursleys' spoiled child simply crossed his arms and pouted, clearly unhappy; his nose made the expression on his face even more childish-looking and ridiculous. Before Harry could even let out a small chortle, Vernon smacked the back of his head.

"Oy, what do you think you're doing? Stop gawking at Dudley and get us some drinks!," Vernon demanded. Harry sighed deeply, being smacked again for his trouble. He went to get the water, seeing Petunia deftly move past him to get the corkscrew. Once he put all of the drinks next to all of the plates, he went to his seat, leaning his head on his right hand as he tried to surreptitiously observe Petunia opening the bottle and Dudley unfolding one of the pieces of paper.

"Huh? What is this supposed to be?," Dudley said to himself with a frown, as Harry raised an eyebrow. Vernon snatched the paper out of his son's hands, eyeing it for a few seconds. While that was going on, Harry leaned back a bit, trying his best to see the paper a little better. His eyes widened once he caught a glimpse of the title, before Vernon turned that characteristic shade of plum.

"This, again…? WHEN WILL THIS _STUPID _STORY GET AWAY FROM MY LIFE?," the Dursley patriarch exclaimed, tearing the paper to shreds in a fit of rage. Harry could only stare at the bits of paper as they fell, his face scrunching up in indignant fury before he carefully schooled his expression back to its meek and helpless-looking façade. He took the rest of those papers from the bottle, tore them to pieces as well, then took the shreds to the sink, took a lighter out from his pocket, and promptly set them all on fire. Dudley, confused at this display of anger, started sobbing as he realized his "souvenir" was getting destroyed in front of him. This managed to break Vernon out of his rage, as he patted Dudley on the back and tried placating him with offers of toys and candy tomorrow.

Vernon grimaced as he turned his head to face Harry, probably somehow seeing him as the cause of his son's anguish, even though _he _was the one who actually destroyed those papers! Harry broke out into a cold sweat at the prejudiced man's intense glare, before said man opened his mouth to speak. "Go back to your cupboard now, boy."

"But, I-"

"Go-cupboard-stay-no meals," Vernon said succinctly, his face beginning to redden once more. The Sorcerer-in-training wisely decided to leave before the man blew up a second time. Once he closed the door to his room, he punched his pillow with all the force of a small child.

"Ggghh. _Damn it,_" Harry whispered to himself, before biting his thumbnail in frustration. In addition to his training in Magic and Mystery, he had also adopted a few of his teacher's…less savory, expressions, over the past few months. _I was so close…_why _did he have to overreact like that?_, he asked himself. _Stupid Vernon, ruining my wish like that…! I'll _never _be able to see that game board, now! _Harry would have paced across the space of his cupboard, if he actually had that much space to spare. "Now what do I do…?," he thought aloud.

_What would Oshishou-sama do in this kind of situation? She'd probably use her Endless magic to revive those papers. I don't have her magic, though…wait…_Harry paused mid-monologue, as he recalled what happened before the first time he and Beatrice met. _That's right…that china plate got un-broken when I reached for it. Could I do that on purpose with the papers, this time? But how do I get to that ash pile with everyone still in the kitchen? _Harry's eyes briefly turned to the small pile of books in the corner, and widened as they fell upon the _Ars Goetia_. He quickly reached for it with his hands, and furiously flipped to one of the pages he had dog-eared himself. Rereading the page for a moment, he grinned, and began his evocation…

* * *

Beatrice's Tea Room, once again…

The comfort of the leather seat did not do much to assuage Beatrice's impatience, as she sat in a regal kind of slouch. Her right leg was bent close to the chair, while her left leg was extended away from the chair as a sort of counter-balance. She kept her right hand close to her mouth, almost as though she was attempting to adopt the classic hand-steepling pose popularized by Gendo Ikari, but with only one hand; although this concealed her facial expression, her mood could still be easily read through her left hand, which was currently drumming its fingers repeatedly on the armrest in a wave-like pattern. "…How boring," she muttered to herself. "When is that kid gonna return, already…?"

Wanting to do something, _anything _other than just sitting around and waiting, she snapped her fingers and held her hands out in front of her, wishing to take a closer look at the most recent project she had tasked her student with. In her left hand, there appeared some type of brass vessel, with magical symbols drawn over it in a red paint that oddly resembled blood. In her right hand, a similar vessel appeared, but it was made of clay instead of brass, and the same magical symbols that adorned the brass vessel were instead directly carved into the clay. Beatrice then proceeded to carefully examine both vessels, looking at their size, shape, and quality of the symbols.

"Hmm…the boy's work here isn't too shabby, but his hands definitely need to be steadier. The circles are a little too uneven," she commented as she looked over the clay and compared it to her own piece of brass. She continued inside her head, and thought, _The circles and symbols really need that extra bit of precision, if Harry's seriously going to consider using clay for his _real_ implement; brass is most certainly more effective in containment, but that can be accounted for if he learns how to magically reinforce the vessel… _Satisfied with her assessment, Beatrice nodded to herself, before preparing to place both foci back in their storage.

Before she could whisk them away, the Golden Witch noticed a faint red glow coming from the markings on her vessel, a glow which, surprisingly enough, was mirrored by Harry's replica. It soon grew so bright, she had to close her eyes, and a shrill noise reverberated throughout the room, causing her to accidentally drop both containers when she tried to cover her ears. Thankfully, the vessels burst into golden butterflies upon hitting the ground, signifying their return to the space from whence they came. The noise died down soon afterwards, and Beatrice could now hear her student's voice across from where she was sitting.

"Wow, that worked pretty well! I can see why Oshishou-sama has such faith in your abilities, Miss-"

"-Just call me Gaap, kiddo. "Miss" makes me feel kinda old, ya know?"

Beatrice, stunned at hearing her friend's voice for the first time in ages, opened her eyes and got a good look at Gaap's signature outfit, a ludicrously risqué red dress with openings on the sides that would have exposed her underwear, if she ever bothered to wear any. She then noticed the stripperiffic she-devil making confident strides towards her, her hot pink high-heeled shoes making loud, crisp clacks with every step. "What's wrong, 'Riiche? Cat got your tongue?," Gaap asked. "Honestly, you never call, you never write - I didn't even hear about your cute new apprentice until he called me!," she boldly continued in light-hearted jest, although Harry was blushing mildly at the "cute" comment.

"W-What? I never summoned you today," Beatrice answered. After all, Gaap wouldn't factor in her plans for Battler for at least another two games, and there wouldn't be any sense in summoning her anywhere near those magic-retardant relatives of Harry's…unless…

"Are you telling me that Harry summoned you entirely on his own?," she asked Gaap, trying and failing to mask even a hint of her incredulity at the boy's potential.

"I-I'm sorry, Oshishou-sama, but my uncle locked me in my room, and I didn't know any other way of getting your present back from the sink, so I at least wanted to _try_ to-"

"Hold on a second, boya. I never said you were in trouble for summoning my friend, I was just surprised. You didn't even construct a real vessel to contain your furniture with, so I wasn't expecting anything of this nature for at least another year! Really, summoning my friend is an accomplishment worthy of my praise," Beatrice said to her frantically-backpedaling apprentice, doing her best to dissuade him of his misplaced sense of guilt. She continued her speech after she saw that Harry no longer saw himself as having done something wrong. "Now then, what present were you talking about, and why was it in the sink?" In response, Harry simply drew her attention to the pile of ashes that had appeared alongside himself and Gaap. At her raised eyebrow, he began to elaborate.

"Well, you granted my wish and decided to let me see one of your games with Mr. Battler, right before my uncle called me back, yeah? But the thing is, your game board was with Dudley, and then when Uncle Vernon saw the game, he got real mad and tried to destroy it! This was all that Gaap could get back, aside from the bottle that the game board was in…," Harry explained. However, Beatrice's puzzled expression remained on her face, before she turned around and quietly deliberated to herself.

_Something's not right here. I was just planning on letting the boy watch what happened in the second game, but the bottles for _Legend_ and _Turn_ have both been found already in this fragment, and the preparations for the third game have hit a huge setback. What's going on…? _She was broken from her contemplation by Gaap using one of her trademark gaps to casually get right in front of her face and startle her.

"There we go. Kid, are you sure this girl's 'Riiche? The 'Riiche _I _know wouldn't mope around like this all day~," Gaap asserted, using another gap to move into one of the seats closer to Harry. The lightning-scarred child himself was fixated on the ash pile, trying to will it to do _something_, yet failing miserably, presumably due to his impromptu summoning of a high-class demon such as Gaap.

"_Gapugapugapu_! Don't mess with me when I'm trying to think!," Beatrice replied, which made Harry look at her really strangely before the gap-using demon burst out into a fit of laughter.

"Hahahahahahahaha! Are you _trying _to sound like 'Lia? Man, you really need to lighten up nowadays," Gaap asserted, before using a small gap to get her hand behind the flustered Golden Witch and slap her back a few times. Knowing that responding to her friend's antics would get her nowhere, Beatrice just slapped the most forced smile imaginable, before turning to her apprentice and talking to him once again.

"So anyway, boya, how do you expect to observe my game board if it's a pile of ashes?," she inquired, hoping to eventually get him off of investigating this unknown element for now.

"Hey, 'Riiche, don't be like thaaat! It was just teasing, you don't have to give me the cold shoulder or-," is all Gaap could say before her friend snapped her fingers, giving her a _literal _cold shoulder. And cold hands. Cold _everything_, really; a statue made of ice is kind of expected to be cold like that. Beatrice then loudly clapped her hands, making the bold portal-using fashionista disperse into the usual gold butterflies, her forced grin still on her face for a moment before she let it go with a sigh of relief.

"Oshishou-sama, wasn't it kind of rude to dismiss your friend like that?," the young Sorcerer-in-training asked.

"Boya, Gaap is good for fashion advice, getting to places quickly, and pranks, but she's best taken…in small doses, if you know what I mean. Even _I _find her a little grating if I'm not in the right mood, and I get along with her _much _better than my Teacher ever did."

"Ehehe…I can see your point…," Harry conceded, scratching the back of his head. "Anyway, did you know that before I accidentally summoned you, my magic was able to fix a broken plate? I figured I could try doing the same thing, but with the papers that make up your game board!," he explained excitedly to Beatrice.

"Mm. That's all well and good, boya, but that pile of ashes seems like it has a lot more pieces to it than a simple broken plate. Are you sure you're up for the task? It took a lot out of me when I summoned _my_ furniture for the first time. And, in any case, why would you need to fix that game board, when I could just show you a game board that Battler and I already went through, right here?," she retorted, snapping her fingers and materializing a past game board for added emphasis. Harry looked back and forth between the ash pile and the board Beatrice was already holding up. From what she could tell, it wasn't the simplest decision for him to make, which…wasn't what she was going for. _Come ooon, kid, just take the easy way out! At least I won't have to worry so much about your safety in a game that's already ended…!_

"Hmm…well…," Harry began.

"Yeee~s?"

"The game board you're holding up sounds tempting for me to look at right now, but…," Harry continued.

"Buuuut…"

"I figure, if I can just fix these papers and hide them from my family, I can look at them whenever I want, instead of having to come here just to look at that game board!," Harry finished.

Outwardly, Beatrice's expression was kept in a shit-eating grin that didn't _seem _as forced as the smile she put on when Gaap continued to annoy her. Inwardly, Beatrice's thoughts were best summed up in one phrase:

_FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUU-_

"So, can you help me fix this, Oshishou-sama?," Harry asked, giving his teacher a saccharine smile that nearly caused her actual physical pain.

"O-Of course I can, boya! I wouldn't be an Endless Witch if I couldn't restore some pieces of paper!," Beatrice nervously replied, knowing she had only one last gambit up her sleeve. _The boya never mentioned what happened to that plate _after _he repaired it with his magic, but considering he's not an Endless Sorcerer just yet, it should've shattered some time later anyway. If I can teach him the Song of Remembrance, and get _him _to sing it instead of me, it'll crumble soon after, and I can just stick with showing him _Turn _like I was originally planning to do!_

What she didn't know was that the accidental magic common to young wizards and witches in the Potterverse wasn't susceptible to the same rules as the When They Cry multiverse's metafictional magic; in fact, the gaudy china plate was still perfectly intact just as Harry fixed it. Of course, the Dursleys, having an intense fear and loathing of anything magical, instantly abhorred the newly-fixed plate, and it now sits hidden in some drawer, gathering dust, but I digress. What she also didn't know was that accidental magic could react unstably to metafictional magic if the caster doesn't have the energy to perform spells in the latter category, and considering Harry summoned one of the 72 demons in the _Ars Goetia_ without even a proper vessel a few minutes beforehand, that goes without saying. And, as an extension to these two pieces of information, what Beatrice didn't know was that her final ploy would give Harry a challenge that not even Battler was ready for...

* * *

_Beatrice's Tea Room...?_

"Owww, my head...," Harry moaned, his eyes still adjusting to the abrupt transition of...locales? As his vision cleared, Harry looked around, and saw that he was still in the tea room, and hadn't even gone past the spot he was in. "Well, _that _didn't work... I guess I'll have to see the other game board, Oshishou-sama," he said. When he didn't get a reply, he turned around. "Oshishou-sama? Where-," the hapless apprentice was cut off by a familiar red-haired youth, holding him up by the lapels in a situation not unlike when they first met.

"Damn it...I had enough on my plate with all the antics from the last game, and I don't need you around screwing up my arguments even more, Potaa!," Battler exclaimed.

"_What? _What arguments? Why are you in Oshishou-sama's tea room? _What's going on? AND MY LAST NAME'S POTTER, NOT POTAA! SAY IT RIGHT!_," he answered the irate teenager, while trying to break free of his grip. Said teenager glared at him for another several seconds, before setting him down on one of the chairs, going back to his own seat, and drumming the fingers of his right hand on the corresponding armrest.

"Tch. I don't even have any more of that damn butler's tea or maybe those ass nee-chans to help me relax," Battler complained to no one.

"Butler? Ass nee-chans? Who are they?," Harry asked quizzically, which Battler initially responded to by giving him a look.

"You know, for someone who claims to be that Beato's apprentice, you don't seem to know who makes up her "furniture"," he bitterly explained to the child, including the use of the incredibly obnoxious-looking air-quotes when referring to his Teacher's furniture. "You can see them doing their damned tricks over _there_," Battler continued, pointing to the wall opposite the two of them.

Sure enough, to Harry's surprise, part of the wall, which he didn't noticed earlier due to his diminutive stature, seemed to have given way, to reveal what would have been an extraordinarily beautiful rose garden, if it hadn't been the dead of night, and a torrent of gigantic-looking raindrops wasn't pelting the vicinity. His attention was drawn to a patch of clear sky, revealing an elderly woman who looked like some sort of caretaker, looking up at the clouds. Strangely enough, even with the storm going on all around her, she didn't even look remotely wet. Suddenly, unfamiliar voices spoke up in argument, while the caretaker continued to look upwards, seemingly oblivious.

"Hey, hey, I found her, I found her, she's in the rose garden."

"Why's she standing around there without an umbrella?"

"I'm ready, all mine all mine all mi-ne! You blockheads can just sit there and watch!"

"I told you, nooooooo, this one's miiiiiiiiiiiiine!"

"Come on, if we take any longer, we'll be scolded by Beatrice-sama! Let's take care of it all at once!"

"Come on, found her, surrounded her! Come on, let's get along and do it all at once, _okay? DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE!_"

Faster than Harry could blink, seven stakes flew from somewhere outside of the view of the "screen", ready to pierce this woman's flesh in an instant. He was stunned at this display, not only because he recognized the shape of the stakes from Beatrice's little show against Battler during that disastrous tea party, but also because _something _protected the woman and completely repulsed all seven stakes. The seemingly-living stakes seemed to share some of Harry's confusion, as they all turned to human forms and looked at their would-be victim quizzically.

"...Eeh...? ...Huh?," the stake with the long brown pigtails exclaimed.

"Wh...what is...this...?," the forceful-looking one with the straight jet-black hair similarly stated.

"...Ho-ho-ho-hoh. What naughty girls. Could you be friends with that child...?," the caretaker finally spoke, talking to these ostensibly-dangerous demonic beings as though they were naught but rambunctious children.

"...What is this, ...you old hag...!," the bright-green-haired stake said in response.

"_Th-There's got to be some kind of mistake! One more time_!," the white-haired stake said in what seemed to be a mixture of outrage and anxiety. This time, instead of turning back into stakes and flying straight at her, the girls' outstretched right arms all ignited into some kind of glowing purple blades, which they quickly and furiously swung at the mysterious old lady. Once again, the same thing that protected her last time activated and easily blocked all of the girls' inhumanly fast attacks, before Harry noticed a glimpse of something...predatory...in the old lady's expression.

"W-Watch out!," he yelled at the screen, to no avail. Just a millisecond after his panicked warning, the invisible barrier expanded faster than the stake-girls could fly away. Ironically, the purple shield of energy completely dispelled their own violet loci, before lightly burning all of their bodies as it pushed them away.

"_Why can she defend against us?_," the stake with a large pair of drill-like curls exclaimed in confusion and a hint of fear.

"Move aside! One more time!," the one with long, straight hair that was light brown with a tinge of green, said, redeploying her energy sword. She was surprisingly determined, despite, or maybe even because of being one of the most badly burned of the seven.

"...No matter how often you try, it's useless. This person...is good," the stake with the black ponytail replied to her determined...colleague...sister? Harry didn't know. Out of all seven, she was the first to notice the prepared counterattack, and got off the lightest.

"...I am waiting for that person to arrive. Would you mind calling for her," the old woman called to the stake with the straight black hair, apparently the leader of the group.

The way she phrased that statement did not indicate that it was a request.

"_D-Do you think we'd be apprenticed to you like that?_," the stake responded, preparing her locus for another assault, before the familiar shape of Harry's Teacher appeared in front of both the leader of the stakes and the mysterious lady.

"There's no need," Beatrice said to both. Strangely enough, any mocking or teasing tone was absent, and from what Harry could see, Beatrice was even mildly frowning, for some reason. To her left, another person, presumably the butler that Battler spoke of, appeared after the stake in front of her exclaimed, "Beatrice-sama!," in shock.

"...It's enough to make me manifest myself," the butler stated. Like his master, Harry could see that this man was completely serious about the appearance of this lady.

"Ronove. It's been a long time. ...Yes, it truly has been a long time." Where had Harry heard the name "Ronove" before...? His eyes widened as he recalled one of the dog-eared pages on Beatrice's copy of the _Goetia_. The pages featuring Ronove were all clearly marked by her. How amazing must his Teacher be, if one of the demons from the _Goetia _is a friend, while the other is her personal butler...? Unfortunately, the seriousness of the situation on the screen left him no time to be amazed at these revelations, as one of the stakes and Ronove responded clearly to the woman.

"This person's talking to Ronove-sama without using "sama"...!," Pigtails said in amazement.

"I'm afraid Miss Asmodeus is correct, madam. It would be presuming too much to speak to one you are unfamiliar with without a certain degree of formality, and I can say, without a shadow of a doubt, that I do not know you."

"O-ho-ho-hoh. My, my. You wound me with your shoddy memory, child...!" Ronove gracefully bowed at her insult, before responding in kind.

"I only aim to do so, madam."

"Hmph. Anyway, it has also been a long time for you...hasn't it? Beatrice."

"S-She isn't even using "sama" for Beatrice-sama...!," Leader stated in astonishment.

At the exchange between Ronove and the old lady, Beatrice simply smoked her pipe. Golden Smoke blew out of the pipe and into the sky, and as it drifted through, the rain suddenly...stopped. The moon cast a beautiful and eerie light, and the beads of water that had gathered from the rain on top of the roses sparkled for a brief moment, like a garden of jewels. This sight did nothing to dissuade the tension of the scene laid out before Harry and Battler. In fact, Beatrice's eyes widened briefly at the woman's apparent disrespect, before narrowing dangerously. That was all covered up in the next second, as Beatrice seemed to force her mouth to curl upwards in a grim smile that didn't reach her eyes. In addition, her eyes themselves were willed to soften up slightly, before Beatrice finally spoke once more.

"Good. Do you know who this person is? ...Beatrice was originally this person's name. I only inherited that name from her." She smoked from her pipe again, giving Harry some time let those words stew over.

_...Wait. Then that would mean that this person..._

"...is my Shishou. The Predecessor, Lady Beatrice," the current Beatrice stated, unknowingly finishing Harry's statement for him.

_The Predecessor..._"...Lady Beatrice?," Harry and the Leader of the stakes simultaneously thought and said, respectively.

"...Or, that's what I _would _say, if Oshishou-sama wasn't already _dead_," Beatrice completed her explanation, much to the chagrin of everyone except for herself, Ronove, and the mysterious imposter.

"_WHAT?_," Both Harry and Leader exclaimed at this revelation. Of course, Battler, just being tired yet absolutely dumbfounded at all of what was going on, was content to massage his temples vigorously and say a simple, flat, "What."

At Beatrice's final statement, the imposter gave an uncomfortable, jaw-straining grin completely uncharacteristic of what the old woman had displayed so far. She held her right hand up to her face, with both eyes still uncovered by her fingers, and then began talking with the voice of a man. "Well, _well_. Whatever could have given me away? No one here knew your teacher or suspected anything besides you and the old man over there."

"_Hah_. Do you really think that I, the Golden Witch, would be so easy to fool? Even if I _hadn't _seen the battle itself with my own two eyes, or even heard of her death, my real Oshishou-sama would _never _attack my furniture like you did. "Furniture only serves its master. The master is responsible for all of her crimes." That's something she drilled into my head from the moment we even started talking about the _possibility_ of me creating or obtaining furniture of my own.," she replied icily to the man who had tried to mimic her own deceased Teacher.

"Well then. I guess there's no point in keeping this old bag, now is there...?," The sneering man said remorselessly, before golden butterflies surrounded the form of the old lady. To everyone's surprise, even Beatrice's, the form that came out of the golden whirlwind was not a man, but rather, a beautiful young-looking lady. She wore a frilly yet elegant navy-blue hat, garnished with fresh-looking roses on the top, and set on her head at a bizarre angle, leaning to the right. A similarly-frilly choker adorned her neck; its main body's color matched that of the hat, and the buttons in the middle were made of gold, and polished, but not to the point of being too obtrusive.

Her elegant dress matched her hat and choker in most respects, simply missing the red roses decorating the hat. Instead, what complemented the ensemble was a golden-orange sash, worn nearly parallel to the angle of the lady's hat. Within the sash, an elongated version of the One-Winged Eagle seen in so much of the Ushiromiya family's attire was embroidered in white. Her long and ostensibly-well-cared-for hair was a vivid shade of silver, as opposed to the old lady's wizened and old-seeming shade of gray. Indeed, nothing about this woman indicated to Harry that she was the same as the old lady whose appearance the imposter had originally taken; in fact, he would be hard-pressed to find anything that physically indicated her true age.

This mysterious lady's beauty, however, was soon forgotten after what happened next. Her face, which had been permanently set in a pleased and patient-looking expression, her eyes permanently closed...changed, not drastically, but by enough to tell that this person was not quite who she seemed to be. Her eyes began to open slowly, in the space of multiple blinks. While they opened, the simple smile of hers began to widen...and widen...and widen further, into the sneering grin of the imposter. The expression now on her face seemed utterly _wrong_ to Harry, and with every movement of the imposter's face, Beatrice's eyes narrowed, until they had closed and scrunched up. Once it was clear that the imposter was still in disguise, but as someone entirely different, Beatrice lost what little patience she had, her eyes opened up and glared at the "woman" with enough force to instantly vaporize any remaining golden butterflies behind "her," and she began to speak once more.

"You _dare _dishonor my Oshishou-sama by taking her form? _Do not _trifle _with me, _boy_. __By my right as Territory Lord of this fragment, if you do not do as I command and reveal to us your true identity, I will permanently exile you from this fragment, and take measures to destroy you, should you even attempt to return."_ The words Beatrice spoke flowed out of her person, and glowed a terrifying gold; they surrounded and moved to bind the person who apparently took the appearance of the Predecessor. The imposter watched the encircling sentence, and his uncomfortably wide grin grew even wider, until he burst out into peals of mocking laughter!

"You really seem to have caught me. Good job, Beatrice," He said, once he stopped laughing and caught his breath. He even clapped his hands a little in obvious derision. "That's fine. Staying here will make the task of _killing _you easier," he continued, before snapping his fingers and magically superimposing his true appearance over that of the witch formerly known as Beatrice.

His hair was the exact same shade of silver as the former Beatrice's, but shorter, and cut similarly to Hinata Hyuga's before the 3-year timeskip (Hey, I only said I _probably _wouldn't reference her again). The main piece in his ensemble was his royal blue overcoat, which he left unbuttoned to show his cotton-white vest and navy blue button-up shirt underneath. The second most noticeable thing about his outfit, however, was the ludicrously-tight-looking collar, with a rather large pin of the iconic Ushiromiya One-Winged Eagle adorning the left side of the collar, which, strangely enough, seemed to be in the exact same spot as the round decorative pin of Battler's outfit. Directly below the collar, but above the shirt and vest, was a white silk tie, with naught but a golden anchor sewn on, as decoration. He wore short shorts and leg warmers, strangely enough, with both being the exact same shade of navy blue as both his button-up shirt, and the dress of the Predecessor. Finally, he wore a pair of dark brown platform shoes, which was the only reason his face was at the same level as the face of the former Beatrice.

Perhaps the strangest thing about him, though, was his true face. It, much like the rest of his appearance, seemed ludicrously similar to the face of the woman whose form he had taken. Now, both his true face and the face of the witch he had apparently killed had settled from an uncomfortable grin to an unpleasantly-condescending smile. Truly, there was no doubt in Harry's mind that this man's face was completely untrustworthy, and that his smile was so fake that no one could possibly believe there was any real kindness or politeness in it. Seeing the gold lettering disappear from view, and noticing the abject shock in Beatrice's face, the man began to speak.

"I wasn't lying when I said it's been a long time, Beatrice, Ronove. But you weren't the only ones present at that fight, now were you...?," he said, the smirk on his face not having altered in the slightest.

"Y-You...You...," Beatrice still had no words ready for the man in front of her. Ronove was similarly speechless, as were Harry, the stakes, and even Battler, someone who apparently didn't believe in magic.

"Ah, yes. Your little butler over there whisked the two of you away before I could tell you my name, didn't you...? Well, allow me to introduce myself. I...am Publius Virgilius Maro. Please, allow me to guide you to your _deaths_," he said to his audience with a deep bow. When he came back up from that bow, his face was once again sporting that demented, uncomfortably-wide grin...

* * *

_Beatrice's Tea Room, at the moment of Harry's "Reading"_

"Okay, boya, do you remember how you fixed the plate?"

Her student scratched the back of his head, and replied, "Sorry, but I don't really remember. Uncle Vernon was about to hit me, so I wished for something, anything, to protect me. And, sure enough, when I reached for something, the plate was there, in one piece again."

Beatrice frowned at yet another mention of the abuse wrought by Harry's so-called "family," but continued anyway. "Well, something like that only works if you really need it to. Don't worry, though. I'll teach you some magic that can do the same thing." This time, it was Harry's turn to frown.

"Um, won't that only work for a little bit? The way you talked to me about it, only someone with your Com-Cumpen-"

"Compendium."

"Compendium, can fix something without having it break again, right?," he finished. This question caused Beatrice to scratch the back of her own head in embarrassment.

"Uh, yeah, th-that's right...," she stuttered in response. _DAMN IT! I was hoping he'd forget that lesson for now...! _The Golden Witch thought to herself a little more, before trying again to convince Harry to do this on his own. "W-Well! Aren't you being a little cheeky, boo~ya? Don't you want to learn my Compendium's magic? I'm telling you, learning this spell is rea~lly important to the Endless part of my magic!"

"But won't it still fall apart if I do the spell?"

"Not if I feed it some of my power while you recite the incantation."

Harry quietly thought about it for a moment, then said, "Well...okay. But if it falls apart anyway, you can do the spell for me, right?"

"Y-Yeah! Of course I'll restore the papers if this doesn't work!," Beatrice said, with fingers crossed behind her back. _Of course, if I just swap out the ash pile with _Turn_, he'll have no way of knowing...Sorry, boya, but keeping you safe is more important to me than your Tanabata wish._

"Okay then, Oshishou-sama, are you ready? Just tell me what I need to say, and I'll repeat it!," Harry said, as he held his hands out towards the ash pile.

"Alright, boya. This spell is what I call, the Song of Remembrance. I can go into the details about how this spell works later, if you want to take a look at the game board as soon as the papers are repaired. Now just repeat after me:

"Come, come, try to remember. What form did you have?"

"Come, come, try to remember. What form did you have?," Harry recited, eyes looking between Beatrice, who was waving her golden pipe to and fro, and the ash pile, which was starting to glow.

"This is important, boya. After the first line you repeated, you have to compliment what you're trying to fix. You need to use words that could be used to describe what the thing originally looked like. Now, try repeating what I say next:

"I'm sure your letters made words of undeniable power."

"I'm sure your letters made words of undeniable power." Harry was astonished at the ash pile, which was starting to whiten into tiny bits of paper with one letter per piece. The letter-bits would combine into entire words worth, but the job still wasn't complete.

"I'm sure your words told the greatest stories of the land."

"I'm sure your words told the greatest stories of the land." Harry was astonished at the scattered words, which were coalescing into paragraphs and pages, getting closer to its true form, but still being a long way from fixed. Beatrice was similarly astonished, but it was for different reasons. After all, she lied about using her own power to fuel the spell. Waving her magical cane? Making the ash pile glow a little? That was over-embellishment of a simple light spell. The person actually fueling the spell was Harry, although he somehow couldn't tell. Perhaps he was so focused on making the game board whole that he didn't notice how much more tired he was seemingly getting? Beatrice shook her head at those thoughts. After all, even if this last chant worked, it would only work for a short while. Right...?

"And I'm sure the paper that holds you wouldn't be torn by anything."

"And I'm sure the paper that holds you wouldn't be torn by anything." All of the pages were once again intact by this point. They organized themselves into their stacks, then folded themselves in the same manner as they had been folded to all fit inside a single glass bottle.

If Beatrice hadn't seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn't have believed it. _As much as I hate to say it...this kid's potential...is pretty scary. _Once again, she shook her head at these thoughts, and went over to Harry, whose breaths were completely ragged and whose sweat had gone cold. He was currently on his hands and knees in front of the papers, and Beatrice couldn't actually see his facial expression, but she guessed it would look almost as worn out as the rest of his body. She kneeled down, and asked, "Hey, boya. Are you okay?" She was then surprised once more when Harry showed her a grin sweet enough to make her teeth rot, although it was kind of ruined by the clammy, sweaty look of his face in general.

"J-Just give me a second to rest, and I'll be fine. I won't waste your present to me, Oshishou-sama," he said to her. Just to be sure he was okay, Beatrice stayed next to him a little longer. The papers didn't matter that much, anyway; Beatrice was sure they'd disintegrate by the time she looked at them again.

After a few minutes, when Harry breathed normally once more, Beatrice went back to observing the game board that he had reconstructed. _Why hasn't it remembered its destruction yet? _She knew from her Oshishou-sama's tutelage, that even in a space like the Tea Room, broken objects would remember that they were broken, anyway. Theoretically, the breakdown of the Song's effects should even be faster in the Tea Room, because unlike the "real world," where the destruction of an object would have to come from a plausible scenario that could cause the effect of its destruction in the first place, places without the Anti-Magic Toxin are not bound by that limitation, and can simply return objects to being broken because their being broken is treated as their natural state once the act of them breaking occurs.

_Not even the slightest tap should be enough to keep the papers intact, after five whole minutes. Did I accidentally infuse my own power into the song, when I said the words first...? _From turning the densely-packed groups of paper around in her hands, Beatrice could tell that they weren't liable to crumble any time soon. She finally unfolded one of the papers, curious to see what "game board" this could honestly be, and was surprised to realize that the pages were arranged entirely out of order. Then she blanched as soon as she realized that the handwriting and the words were hers after all. _Wait. This is... No. I tossed this thing away. No one was ever supposed to find it... _With a growing sense of horror, she sifted through page after page, and every idea, every little detail, was something she remembered writing, deliberating on, and switching out. She finally found the title page in the convoluted mess of papers, which only confirmed her fears.

"Oh, _no_," she couldn't help but think aloud. This drew Harry's attention, and he, noticing the papers, dutifully picked them up one by one, before standing up to talk to his teacher about his wish.

"W-What's wrong, Oshishou-sama? Did something in the spell go wrong?," Harry questioned.

"Well, yes, kind of, but-"

"I can still observe your game, right?," he asked. "I mean, listen to this cool part right here!"

"_HARRY, WAIT-_," is as far as she could go, before Harry began to recite the words in the top page he picked up.

"Ironically, the purple shield of energy completely dispelled their own violet lo-," is all the boy could say, before his body was instantly transported to the world of the game board. Once this happened, the very thing that Beatrice had wished to happen to the mysterious game board, came to be, and all of the papers, including the ones in her hand, quickly turned back to ashes. As the ashes slipped through her fingers, she kneeled down and stared listlessly at the remains in front of her, beginning to realize how much she had failed to protect her apprentice.

_To be continued, in Chapter 4:_

A Land of the Golden Witch


End file.
